Origins
by Yagton
Summary: Have you ever wondered why New Orleans was haunted by Dr. Facilier? You might be surprised to know not all villains start out that way. So gather around me children, if you can, and listen to the story of how he became known as the Shadow Man.
1. Chapter 1

_Have you ever wondered why New Orleans_

_Was haunted by Dr. Facilier?_

_You might be surprised to know_

_Not all villains start out that way._

_So gather around me children, _

_If you can,_

_And listen to the story of how he_

_Became known as the Shadow Man._

* * *

The hot autumn sun was beating down upon the city of New Orleans. Streets were alive with the spirit of jazz. Everything jumped to the rhythm of the saxophones, drums, and acoustic guitars, whose tunes carried on the wind with the fluidity of water and clarity of crystal. Yes, it was easy to say that New Orleans was alive.

When he stepped out of the front door onto his miniscule balcony, he took a deep whiff of air and sighed contentedly. He adored the smell of Louisiana more than anything – everything was mixed together in a great melting pot of aromatic bliss. Why, if he strained his nose, he could pick out faint scents of Cajun cooking that wandered from the bayou. The man licked his lips, the slimy tip of his tongue tickling the hairs of his thin black moustache. "Today's gon' be a good one, I can just feel it." Spinning around, he sauntered down the three steps of the ramshackle house and onto the grainy yellow grass.

And he walked briskly, smoothly, down the dusty lane until he reached the true limits of New Orleans. His eyes simply _had_ to take in the great sights: buildings rose like creatures of myth from the cobbled streets, stretching themselves to the breaking point in an attempt to touch the sky. So far above them, the object of their desires was a shimmering blue, almost like the waters of the bay except a twinge lighter. Like all good days, there wasn't a single cloud in sight – today was going to be exceptional, he could feel it.

Then again, days were never unexceptional when you were Facilier, the smooth 20-year-old who was, hey, _available_. And what woman could resist his snakelike charms? His tongue was forged of the purest silver; his hands knew their way around a woman's face that made heat rise to her cheeks at an alarmingly fast pace; his voice was like chocolate. Everyday was an adventure into the world of a heartthrob bachelor who, for personal reasons, never told you his name; only that he was a doctor and knew what he was doing, so relax. Nothing to fear but waking up the next morning with no one by your side, almost as though he had never even been there. There was an inexplicable urge to push him to the back of your mind.

That was how Facilier functioned. He hated the fact that he could never create a stable relationship with another woman, for he knew that somewhere in Louisiana there lived his soulmate. And try as he might, the man who was in the lap of attractive luxury could never seem to establish a working relationship. Somehow, all the women were far too different, and not particularly to his liking.

Facilier had the opportunity to be picky. And he made use of it regularly, each night a failed romance that he ended at the nearest moment. True, the days were exceptional when your name was Facilier; however, they always ended in disappointment and hating oneself.

Today, though, Facilier was sure that he would find that special someone. He had a feeling, an indescribable confidence, that reassured him of it.

But the day was mostly the same as always. He easily wooed each girl he stopped to adore, but when he found himself bored and out of witty one-liners, he disappeared, melting back into the crowd and becoming invisible to the world. His deep brown eyes would scan the people moving to and fro on the street; every now and then, his hands would reach up and remove the top hat from atop his mess of black hair and scratch his temple. Things were looking very bleak. Each woman he courted was exactly the same – boring, bubbly broads who made everything very mushy and couldn't tell guitar from trumpet. It annoyed Facilier that on such a wonderful day he had to be so melancholy – would he ever find the woman for him in New Orleans? Most definitely, he didn't want t leave; no, it was one of the last things he wished for. The music and stars in the sky were all the paradise he needed, and to forgo all that…. There was a good chance doing so would kill him.

Yet all this was seeming more and more like a necessity. Other than the two reasons that had attracted him, the city held nothing for him. His future was running short, as he was getting dangerously low on money – every morning, he would wash his black jacket and purple undershirt; every other morning, he'd do the same to his slacks and shoes. In no more than a few months time, he'd be destitute and living on the street.

He'd have to pick up what he had and start walking. The same thing had happened when his mother was banished from their kingdom for the same tendencies Facilier had inherited. With nothing to her name, she walked, carrying the young Facilier until he could walk as well. Then, one day, when he was around six, she couldn't do it anymore. She collapsed and didn't move again, and Facilier could do but one thing: walk, the only thing he'd ever been taught.

At the present time, Facilier could think of nothing. New Orleans was rather vivid, but the sun was mercilessly hot. Wiping his brow for the umpteenth time, the man decided to go find somewhere to relax.

Shuffling through the crowd proved to be easier said than done. Everyone appeared to be pressing against him like a great human torrent that prevented him from getting anywhere. Underneath a blazing yellow orb, and in the presence of so many people, it was getting rather hard to breathe. And he was burning to flaming bits in the dark-colored clothes on his back – how unlucky that those garments were the only ones he had at his disposal. Back when he had made enough money to not have to wear rags from the alley trashcans, the outfit had unparalleled appeal. Unfortunately, he hadn't thought of the repercussions of such actions – namely, the fact that black and purple were colors not suited for an environment such as New Orleans.

Eventually, Facilier had to concede that he was not traveling far with the mass of bodies coming at home. Not taking another minute to push and shove and dirty himself, he ducked down a sidestreet. All light seemed to fade in a climactic diminuendo as it reached the alley. Facilier blinked and stared into the increasing shadows. At least there would be shade and refuge from the heat, despite the creepy feeling that ran up his spine.

Taking slow, careful steps, he inched his way into the alley. Peculiarly, though, as he made his further down the hidden lane, the shadows broke. They cleared, and light surged into his eyes, growing more powerful little by little as Facilier continued.

A minute later, he emerged in front of a small shop. Taken by surprise, Facilier wondered how he could have never noticed the bright lights coming from the tined windows. After more than a decade in New Orleans, he was sure he knew every nook and cranny, yet a small place had eluded his vision all these years. His curiosity piqued, Facilier stepped up to the front door and cautiously gripped the front door handle. Breathing deeply, he pushed the door open.

The interior of the shop was nothing more than that of a regular pub. One long red carpet ran from the entrance to the bar, with small tables pushed to the sides. A small, half-circular staircase led up to the bar which – bar? Facilier felt his throat rasp. It was in dire need of something cool to ease its pain.

No one else appeared to be in the shop. "That's odd…" Facilier quietly told himself. But, nonetheless, thirst overtook him and he strolled as nonchalantly as he could manage up the glimmering scarlet carpet. Hopping up the steps, he took a seat at the bar, resting on one of a set of tattered barstools.

"How can I help you?"

Before Facilier knew it, a woman was standing before him. He took one look at her and felt a thump in his chest. This girl had skin tone that was a beautiful brown, with coal eyes and a smirk in those cracked red lips. She wore a white apron, which did its best to hide a plain blue dress that was nothing fancy. The woman, as Facilier noted, was more than a little overweight; her stomach had a bit of a bulge that caused her dress to flutter out. Faciler thought to himself that she was nothing like the women he was used to having ogle him; this one wasn't perfectly curvaceous, nor did she have an angelic smile on her face.

Still, he couldn't help grinning and chiming with his usual line. "How y'all doin', gorgeous?"

The woman let out a short laugh. "The best that can be expected, hun. Now, you want a drink or what?"

Facilier raised an eyebrow. "What would you suggest? What do you like?"

She wouldn't give him an inch. "It don't matter what I want. You want a scotch? Okay? Good." Grinning to her customer, she went to work on the drink as Facilier sighed. Scotch wasn't something he normally drank. It had a bit of a bitterness to his tastes and was…expensive. There was no avoiding shuddering. However, he'd just have to make do.

When the woman returned with his drink, Facilier asked her, "So what should I call you, lovely?" It was what he mostly used to impress the women out on the streets, but it would have to work in here.

The woman at the counter smirked. "What's yours?"

"You first," Facilier insisted, flashing her a smile that showed off his fashionably white teeth.

Sighing, the woman said, "Alright, you win. The name's Leona Buckham."

Facilier nodded. Leona was a nice enough name. Clearing his throat, he replied, in his most debonair voice, "You can call me the doctor. Doctor Facilier."


	2. Chapter 2

"Doctor, huh?" Leona asked with a smirk slowly stretching across her face. "What do you specialize in, _doctor_?" The final word rolled off her tongue with a smooth clarity that threatened to rival Facilier's.

This fact visibly caught him off his guard. For a few long moments, his face was blank, his eyes doing nothing but blinking; his fingers trembled on the small shot bottle filled with the dark maroon scotch. When he did recover enough to be aware of his surroundings, he realized that the woman at the bar was expecting an answer. Needless to say, this situation was a first for Facilier – the women on the streets were too busy being flattered to care what he did.

Incidentally, he wasn't a doctor – not even close. The nearest thing he'd ever done to something medical was putting ice on his face when he got a black eye in a bar fight. And the ice melted in a matter of minutes, leaving him cold and still in pain. Facilier couldn't think of a way to respond, and had to quickly settle for the first thing that popped into his head. "Umm…dentist…?" he suggested in the most suave voice he could, at the time muster, all the while spreading his arms and being wholly unsure of himself.

Leona got a glint in her eyes as she saw right through him. "Uh-huh. Whatever you say, sugar," she muttered, throwing her elbow on the bar and leaning down. Her chin came to rest upon her open palm, face now level with that of the mock doctor. "You really thought you could lie to me and get away?"

She was playing with him. A few odd moments found heat rising to Facilier's cheeks, though he couldn't distinguish them between anger and embarrassment. However, those few moments gone, he was fine once again and actually forming a phrase in his mind. And, before he knew what he was saying, he'd replied to her with a joking, "Well, I'd hoped to, but it'd be impossible to get anything past a girl like you." Where had it come from? He didn't have the slightest idea.

Evidently, though, it had done its job. The smirk on Leona's face was widening, and now she wasn't the only one having fun. A short laugh escaped her lips before retorting. "Wouldn't that be obvious, hun? I'm a big girl – put on my own dress and everything." And before Facilier could come up with a witty response, her eyes drifted down to the untouched glass of scotch. "You gonna pay for that anytime soon?"

Darn! With all the fun of a pretend fling, Facilier had all but forgotten about the dreadful topic of payment. He knew he was short on funds, as he had for a while, but he made it a point to keep money stashed away in his small home. But searching through his pockets quickly and discreetly yielded not a penny – he was broke, and expected to pay for a drink with the ludicrous price of scotch! In almost any other situation, he'd have cradled his head in his arms and rolled up his sleeves to wash dishes. This woman, Leona, however, wasn't one to disappoint.

Trying one last debonair move, he frowned and asked, "Can't this one be on the house?"

This time, Leona didn't laugh. She looked at Facilier and scrunched her lips together, wriggling them around. Her eyes floated all around the desolate bar, before finally asking, "You wanna find out?"

Her remark made no sense to Facilier. What was she playing at? Shouldn't she already know if he was going to (and obviously, he would have to) pay? He continued to ponder this as Leona reached under the bar. A few moments later, her head poked back up; her hands held a deck of cards.

"What are those?" Facilier asked, completely losing the allure of his vocals.

Leona started to shuffle the deck, replying, "Tarot cards." And the words rung a bell in the dark-skinned man's head – after living in New Orleans for so long, how could he not have heard of such things as tarot and voodoo? They were common topics of discussion in the French Quarter, just as New York City would often discuss the stock market. But, in all his years, Facilier had made certain to avoid these things. They gave him funny feelings and made him nervous. But this woman was laying out three cards in front of him with nothing but anticipation, anxiousness, and joy in her eyes.

Perhaps they weren't all bad?

"Alright, hun," Leona said, putting the rest of the deck down to her right. "You know how this works?"

Facilier shook his head, but hastily explained that he didn't want to know.

Leona chuckled. "Coward…" she joked. Reaching a hand down, she quickly flipped over the first of the three tarot cards. It had no words on it, much to Facilier's surprise; the only thing on it was a picture. On this particular card, the picture was a depiction of thunder, surrounded by darkness. Pursing her lips, the woman behind the counter stared intensely at the card. After a minute of nothing but silence and nervous shuffling by Facilier, Leona spoke. "How odd…"

"What?! What does it say?!" Facilier demanded in a fearful tone.

"This card speaks of your future," she breathed. "It is filled with turbulence and hard choices. And they will have consequences as powerful as thunder that will rattle those around you. And it starts with the darkness and dankness of thunder and rain."

She moved onto the next card, either oblivious or uncaring of Facilier's shocked, haunted expression. This second card that Leona flipped over was of a blackened, laughing face. "Now this is good, this is good…"

"What's this one?!" Facilier cried out, this time hopefully. He needed some good news after that prediction about a rough future.

"Why, it's for the present. It looks you'll be paying after all," Leon cooed. "And, what more, with a tip." Chortling, she reveled in the aghast face of Facilier. He was positively horrified, as though a devil had come from behind him and yanked him down to the ground by his coattails.

The cruel twist of fate left Facilier in a deeper bog than he'd started. It appeared time to speak up. "But I…I don't have any money," he admitted to Leona. "I completely forgot about that when I came in. I'm…I'm sorry."

"Well, don't be so melancholy just yet, hun," Leon told him as her hand daintily curled around the last card. Carefully flipping this last one over, she revealed a scene of gold and jewels flowing out of a treasure chest. "It looks like you're about to come into possession of wealth."

"But that doesn't change anything!" the man protested. "I'm still broke!" To prove his point, he shoved his hands into his pockets….

No, that couldn't be right. Just moments before, there had been nothing. And now….

Facilier pulled money out of his pocket – real money, that lay right there in his hand after there had been not a cent. He could do nothing but gawk at what lay in his hands – that was impossible. Magic wasn't real, was it…? That's what he had been taught: that the voodoo and tarot community were dangerous thieves who would swindle you out of your savings in an instant. Yet…

Before his thoughts could go on any longer, the money was snatched away. He peered up at Leon, who was grinning. "I won't say I told you so, hun," she said. "But I did." A few moments later, she continued by saying, "Look at that – enough to cover the drink and a tip. Lucky you, doctor…" Laughing ,she placed the money under the bar and returned her attention to Facilier.

"H-how…did you do that…?" he inquired with a bewildered expression still covering his face.

"Tarot, hun," Leon replied, picking the cards back up. "These things are magical, yet not always good. There's nothing to be gained by tempting fate and trying to change it."

"Is it dangerous, like everyone says?"

Leona shrugged. "Sometimes it is, but the hardships are worth it. 'Before you can reap a reward, you gotta stand a li'l bitta trial.' That's what the woman who introduced me to tarot always said."

"Someone introduced you to it?" Facilier asked. "Who?"

Grinning, Leona brushed her hands off on her dress. "Her name's Mama Odie. She's a great person, I'll have to introduce you two – I think she'll be able to talk even someone like you into voodoo."

Their talking continued on and on, Facilier disregarding his drink and Leon disregarding his disregard. It was as if they were old friends who were catching up. In that time, Facilier was told many things about voodoo and tarot.

"I can only explain so much," Leon said in a bit of a dejected tone. "Mama Odie tells me to never delve too deep at one time – too risky. Really, if you come back, we can do this again. I can tell your future, and I can take you to Mama Odie."

Facilier's eyes sparkled with that old gleam of theirs and he flashed his pearly white teeth at the woman behind the counter. "Tempting offer, Mizz Leona. I might just have to take you up on that offer."

"Sounds grand, Mister Facilier," Leona replied. As the two bid each other goodbye, and Facilier was walking down the scarlet carpet, Leona called out, "Maybe next time, the drinks'll be on me!"

And Facilier had never smiled bigger than he did at that moment. Leona Buckham, huh? She was charming, though unconventional to say the least. However, she did have a likeability that Facilier just didn't see on the lawless streets of regular, tarot-free New Orleans. Leona, her lifestyle, and her choices, all had alluring qualities about them.

And that was all it took for Facilier to feel a thump in his chest. It was a feeling…he'd never felt before. It was…odd, and…alien. But, he had to admit, he kinda liked it.

The streets were humming with the sounds of saxophones and guitars. Facilier let the city he loved envelop him, and he danced all the way home, not stopping to a court a lovely lady even once.


End file.
